by P G Loiselle
Amy seemed delighted when we showed up as a four-pack. “Stevie, Mikey, um, Dale-y, and uh, Luke-y,” she called out as we hobbled up the stairwell, one after the other, like Frizzy, Shaky, Brawny and Runt, some lesser known kinfolk to the Seven Dwarfs. “You’re here to save me from killing myself out of sheer boredom. Hoorah.”
The day’s recording along with Friday night’s spectacle at the Rockin’ Steady had zapped our vigor; nobody responded with enthusiasm to her overanxious greeting. Most of us nodded or grunted instead.
“Where’s Tommy, that husky Joe?” she asked.
“Couldn’t make it tonight,” I said. “You know, Tina and stuff.”
She reached for her hips and got sassy. “Great. Tommy’s out and you guys stroll in like a flock of lame-ass losers. Aren’t you at least excited to see me?” With her head cocked to the left, she spread her arms wide and beamed, awaiting a hug.
Dale perked right up. “Out of my way, fellas.”
He dove into her arms, raised her up and swung her around counterclockwise. After numerous spins, he set her down again for the next one in line. Mike was in her reach; she clawed into him like a Black Widow about to feast on her mate. He hardly squeezed in return, bending his hands to avoid the touch of her blouse, and quickly escaped her grip. Stevie followed, receiving a firm embrace.
“Didn’t you once tell me you save the best for last?” I said, kidding around.
“If you say so,” she answered with the squint of a cynic and gave me more of a pat than a hug.
Seating options were limited. Mike and I snatched the only two folding metal chairs available while the others took their places on the ragged sofa, with Stevie lodging himself in the middle.
“Hear about our gig at the Rockin’ Steady?” Dale asked, all fired up. “It was wicked good. Them Frenchies loved us.”
“Stevie told me yesterday,” Amy said. “Doubt it was better than Beantown.”
“Blew it away, actually,” Dale said.
“Let’s shoot the shit later” I said, dousing the chit-chat. “Only a couple hours before Mike’s driver guy takes us back to the studio.”
“Ok, boss man,” Stevie said, snapping at me out of nowhere.
I winced yet ignored the snide comment and addressed Amy. “It’s gotten out of control. Stone’s dopes rampaged our practice space, four of them, definitely packing. They tried following us to the Rockin’ Steady until we gave them the slip. And…” I stopped talking and looked at Stevie. “Or did he tell you that too?”
“We chatted for hours. He told me everything.”
I peeked over at guitar boy again; that stinker glowered back from his perch next to Amy as though his walkie talkie made him the anointed one. Everything? I thought. What’d he have to say for hours? I can barely get a whole sentence out of him. That was all secondary, so I trudged on.
“Ok, Amy. You know what happened. Now the big question is what to do about it?”
Dale spoke up in a voice packed with leather. “Let’s hit them hard. A frontal attack, a surprise attack.” He flexed his right arm and bared his teeth.
“That’s so Dirty Harry,” I retorted. “I know you’re pissed off and want revenge, but it’s too primitive. You might as well walk up to them with a club and bash their skulls in.”
“Now that’s an idea,” Dale said, getting all pissy. He folded his arms and scowled at me.
“Dale, I didn’t mean to…” I began. Amy cut me off.
“Luke has a point. And anyway, it’s Stone I’m after. He’s the target, and I don’t see how you can get close enough to hurt him that way. It’s got to be sneaky.”
Dale, with his hands pushing down on the cushions, rotated his torso towards Amy, looking as if he’d jump up. “Those dicks broke into the studio, trashed my drums and made me look like a fool. This is personal. I have my own vendetta, and I’m not only out to get Stone but his wimpy-ass bun boys too.”
Amy stood with the grace of a giraffe and approached all puppy eyed from the opposite end of the couch. She crouched down in front of him, put her hands on his knees and pleaded. “I’ll buy you ten new drum sets. This isn’t about you, and it’s not an eye for an eye thing. It’s about me and my family…and justice. Justice and nothing else.” Tears paraded down her cheeks, yet she remained calm. “Do you even know what happened? Stone, that filthy bastard, he killed my father.” She let that thought germinate while Dale sat petrified, like a cub scout terrified by his first ghost story at the campfire. “That’s right…murdered my father and who knows how many other lives he wrecked. He deserves to rot in a hole until Satan comes to take his unholy soul. Don’t make it your fight. Whether you know it yet or not, you’re a great man, Dale Bixby. I just know you’ll support me on this.”
Dale locked his vision onto Amy’s. “My God, I didn’t know. Tommy told me about Stone. I thought it was about money. That, that…scoundrel.” His clay-colored eyes welled up, looking like a mud puddle, but tears refused to fall. “Course, I’ll do it, for you, Amy. Only for you. Since you’re irresistible and turn me into butter,” pronounced ‘buhduh’ in a Rhode Island accent.
Amy smiled. Her eyes sheened in the pale light. “Love ya, Dale,” she said and kissed him, pressing her lips firm to his forehead. Dale melted back into the couch, and Amy returned to her old spot. I spied Mike from my peripherals, as he whimpered in the shadows.
“Anyone else?” Amy asked, looking for volunteers.
There was a long silence until I piped up again. “Maybe there’s a way to give them back the money, you know, get them off our case first. Then see if there’s anything we can do legally. I mean your cousin is like some FBI type guy.”
“Luke, I’m so frickin’ sick of hearing that. Why don’t you shut up about it once and for all? If we give back the money, they’ve won. And we’d have nothing left to get them on. How many times do I have to say that?”
“You weren’t there Friday night,” I said and leaned forward. “Those guys were armed, and dangerous. If one of us gets a bullet to the head, how could we forgive ourselves?”
“I was there,” Stevie said, “and I’m not wimping out.”
“What? You saying I’m wimping out?” My blood started boiling; Stevie looked delighted to get such a rise out of me.
“Once and for all,” Amy said, ignoring Stevie’s asinine remarks. “Yes, we’re on a life-threatening mission; any or all of us could be pushing up daisies by the time this is over. That’s the sad truth. But are we going to pussy out, knowing that the fate of my father could also happen to other fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, etc.? Don’t you have the frickin’ balls to stick up for what’s right? Or do you want to close your eyes and run away?” She raised herself up and turned in a circle, eyeballing each one of us. “Biting the dust in your mid-twenties is a hefty price to pay. I totally understand if you’re not ready to take that risk. So, here it goes, if you’re not willing to go all the way with me and see this through, that’s fine. You can get out now, or let me know later. I swear by my parents’ blessed souls, I’ll never, ever hold it against you. But if you’re in, clench your butt cheeks together and get ready to fight alongside me.”
“I’ll go all the way with you,” Stevie said, jumping in to rattle on his allegiance. He leaned forward and shot us all snooty look.
“I’m in like I said,” answered Dale seconds later.
“You can count on me too,” Mike said, “no matter how hairy this gets.” He wiped both cheeks with his wrists and snuffled up a grand dose of O2 mixed with snot.
All eyes turned towards me, awaiting my reaction. I was still rattled by Stevie’s attitude and needed a moment. When ready, I exhaled, vibrating my lips together like an old horse and let my head fall in defeat. “Amy, you know I’d die a million deaths for you. How many times do I need to tell you for Christ’s sake? And yes, I’ll shut up abo
ut giving back the money…for now. I just think everyone here needs to be open minded about the alternatives and consequences. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to do, and Stone’s pushing us into a tight corner. We shouldn’t make any rash decisions.”
Amy looked around with a Cheshire grin and sat back down. “I knew there were no pussies in this group.”
Dale fake coughed, uttering Tommy’s name underneath his airburst.
“Be nice, Dale,” Amy said. “Tommy’s dedicated. I admire him for that. And speaking of dedicated, I’m with all of you too. The problem is, I’m so trapped here with all this time to think and haven’t come up with anything good either. So, who has an idea that doesn’t include giving back the money? I need action. Now.” We sat there for an uncomfortable stretch and nobody had anything to offer. Finally, Stevie presented his ‘brilliant’ scheme.
“What about pretending, to give back the money, and not really do it. Put an empty bag in the woods. When they go get it, the police get them.” Everyone seemed intrigued by the suggestion, although the concept was still too fuzzy.
“How would that get Stone busted?” Dale asked.
“Um…maybe if we tell the cops about the stolen money, Stone could get arrested for it.”
“But I stole the money,” Amy said, looking confused. “From him.”
“True,” Stevie said, tripped up, and began to squirm.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Makes no sense.”
“What bright ideas do you have then?” Stevie said, all hostile towards me. “You’re against everything that doesn’t come from you.”
“What? I’m not…”
“I agree with Luke,” Mike said, taking the heat off me. He placed his white-collar hands gingerly on his lap and straightened his hunched skeleton. “It’d be Amy getting busted; she wouldn’t last a day in jail before they got to her. She’s better off here in the warehouse.” Mike, with his slight smile radiating up through his eyes, looked at peace for a change.
“Never mind then,” Stevie said, flustered, and retreated into quiet contemplation.
“Good start, Stevie, good start,” Amy said, encouraging him anyway, as if he swung and missed in a Little League baseball game. “The idea of luring Stone into a trap is good. But how do we get him arrested for a serious crime that he can’t weasel himself out of? We need the goods on him, something juicy. Even that gumshoe who promised a mountain of dirt on Stone hasn’t delivered a frickin’ thing. I bet that scam artist bailed on me.”
Everyone’s heads turned this way and that way, towards each other and back and forth. Dale offered up an idea that was struck down. Mike began proposing something and stopped himself once he glimpsed all those blank stares.
It was approaching eight and time to call it quits. In my mind, we should have used the two hours to start crafting a realistic plan, or at least the first steps to execute at once. Instead, we came out empty handed and openly frustrated. Yes, we demonstrated our loyalty to Amy, yet again, but at that point, I felt that words were cheap at a time when action was needed. Still, I wanted to leave on a good note.
“Great first shot,” I said. “It’s a complicated situation, and we’re not quite there yet. Great ideas don’t always come straight away.”
“Yeah, guys, stick with me,” Amy said. “Remember, I’m counting on you.”
“Yeah, guys, stick with us,” Stevie said, now even repeating Amy. “We’re really counting on you.” His copycat plea for support sounded limp wristed and cliched. I felt like taping his mouth shut but thought I’d make up for his phony response with my own go-team speech.
“Don’t forget how awesome the show was last week,” I said. “Friday will be even better. The Showroom’s home turf, and it’s sure to be another big night. You saw what happened when Stone tried to stop us. It had the opposite effect. Our fans will outnumber any army of thugs they plan to throw at us.”
They all looked at me like ‘whatever dude’ and made it clear that they were sick of listening to Coach Luke, or anyone for that matter. Talk wasn’t cheap at that point, more like worthless.
We formed a line and exited as we came, in the same order and even more mopey. The usual ritual acts for the hellos were used for the goodbyes: hugs, kisses, etc., but mostly done in silence. When Amy got to me, the last in line, she whispered in my ear. “Do something, Luke. I got to get this behind me.” I had nothing more to say and gave her a sympathetic yet desperate look while I trailed the others down the metal stairs. The four of us disappeared into the truck and sprawled out on the floor, not worried about how grimy it was. The vehicle began to roll when Stevie called out in desperation.
“Wait, wait, stop,” Stevie yelled.
Piano Mike banged on the back of the driver’s cabin for him to hold on.
“What now?” I said.
“I forgot to give Amy these. She’s running out of juice.” He pulled a bunch of battery packets out of his pocket.
“Seriously?” I said, over-pronouncing the ‘S’.
“Seriously,” he said, looking even more aggravated than I felt. “What’s it to you?”
“Well, quick. Do it.”
“Yes sir, boss,” he said, and jumped out of the truck.
The walkie talkies are the only lifeline we have to her; however, I felt there was more to it: the way he acted, his open animosity towards me and the hour-long conversations Amy mentioned. What was that all about? When he made it back, Mike signaled his employee to resume driving, and we careened through the industrial sized garage doors and rode on towards the studio. The ride was bumpy like before, and, for the most part, people stayed to themselves. It was only Stevie’s message that bewildered me.
“Amy said not to be mad. She had to.”
“What does that mean?”
“How should I know? She just told me to tell you.”
“I’m not mad. With that message, though, it sounds like I might be at some point.” I cleared my throat, forcing the slime down into my stomach. “And between you and me tonight…not sure what happened, but it felt, you know, tense.”
“Yep.”
“Stevie, buddy, listen. Friday’s show was great. Today’s recording will blow minds. There’s so much amazing stuff happening to us. And now we’re bickering like rival suitors. What the hell’s up with this silly friction between us? Is it the Stone thing?
“I guess,” he said.
“You guess, huh? Nothing else?”
“Nope.” The way he glared at the steel wall of the truck, I thought he’d burn a hole right through it.
“Should we, you know, kiss and make up then?”
“Sure,” he said, although he still wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I smiled and whacked him on the shoulder. No matter how annoyed I was at him, and the Amy thing, I couldn’t hold a grudge at either of them. They both mean too much to me. I only hope Stevie feels the same, regardless of whatever hairbrained ideas he has of what I supposedly did.
Tuesday, July 21, 1987
“There you are,” Carney said. “Happy Monday.” He was stooped upon my chair as I dragged my weary bones into the cubicle. “My contacts tell me you had a smash up of a time on Friday night.” He laughed in spurts of increasing pitch, busting up from his own corny line.
Getting not one minute of sleep on Sunday night, I yawned, dropping my eyelids halfway, and followed with three noisy empty-mouth chews. “Don’t tell me. I’m fired, right?”
“Now, Moore, don’t be so sensitive. You’re my best bookkeeper. Why would I want to lose you?”
“Because you think I have something to do with the money, or at least know something about it.” I talked at room level, rather monotone, and didn’t give a rat’s ass who was listening.
“Quiet,” Carney said between his teeth, trying to whisper, and spoke even lower. “We’re in the open, and
I won’t stand for anyone gossiping about issues that are not of their concern. Understand, Moore? Into my office. Pronto.”
He rushed off, and I lagged a couple feet behind, trying to show my non-interest in whatever he had to say. The no-nighter had the advantage of allowing me not to worry about anything since even death would have been a relief at that point. He stopped at his office entrance and had me walk in first. Before closing the door, he stood at the threshold, jutted out his neck and peeked down both ends of the hall.
“I’ve absolutely nothing to do with Mr. S’s money, and you people can think what you want.” I altered my intonation. “People are talking though.”
“Really?” Carney’s eyeballs bulged. “About what?”
“What do you think? Maybe like…Amy’s mysterious disappearance. I want to know where she is too. I don’t trust anything anyone’s telling me. How do I know that you, or your so-called associates, aren’t behind it, looking for a fall guy like me?”
“Now you look,” Carney said, firing off his words in staccato double-time. “I had nothing to do with her not showing up at work, and neither I nor my business associates have any idea where she is.”
“Oh really? Who does then?” I asked.
“What about you? Maybe you know more than you’re leading onto?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and propped up his chest, fighting back a smug grin. “Any help finding her and I’m sure there’d be a generous reward. Maybe even a pay raise. Or, we could do something about that foolish loan of yours.”
“Is that a joke?” I said and wanted to pummel the smirk right off his face. “Me? Help you? Find Amy? Stop kidding yourself, Mr. Carney. I have work to do.” I put my hands in my pockets and sauntered back to my cube awaiting his retort.
Sure enough, he was back within minutes. “Moore, I’m the boss here. You can’t just walk away like that. I’ll tell you when you can go.”
I gazed up at him, bored of his moronic tirades.
“This is for you,” he said and flung another one of those familiar brown envelopes at me. I jammed it into my back pocket without looking. “And see all these?” He plonked a cardboard box full of little paper slips on my desk. “Twelve months’ worth of petty cash receipts. Sort them, categorize them and give me a summary by noon.” He turned and steamed off towards his office.
